In Love with Melancholy
by TalisTheIntrovert
Summary: Picks up in the train not an hour after that fateful kiss. John and Margaret think they may finally be happy, but their luck just isn't that good and circumstances threaten to tear them apart again.
1. All I Loved, I Loved Alone

_From the same source I have not taken_  
 _My sorrow; I could not awaken_  
 _My heart to joy at the same tone;_  
 _And all I loved, I loved alone._

 _ **Edgar Allen Poe, Alone**_

* * *

A single tear rolled silently down her cheek, despite her efforts to stop it. She had not cried as much as she felt was necessary when her mother died, nor Bessy or her father, or even Mr Bell, but now, of course, here she was tearing up at nothing at all. She hoped it would go unnoticed but he must have seen it in her reflection in the train window. His fingers crept under her chin and turned her head towards him.

"Margaret? What is it?" his voice was soft but she could feel the worry emanating through his fingertips and his eyes were asking if it was something he had done. She wondered that she had not realised sooner how gentle and caring he was, and how uncertain of her he now was because of what had transpired between them.

"It's nothing, I…" She faltered, "I'm just so very sorry for everything. For what has happened… and for what I put you through. How can you even bear to look at me?" She swallowed the lump in her throat; she would not cry. He sighed and cupped her face in his hands.

"Quite easily I'm sure. It might be harder were you less beautiful, but as it is, I want nothing more than to stare at you without end."

"John-" She started.

"No, Margaret, I'll not have you blame yourself for blameless actions. You believed I was insulting your honour. You believed me to be a scoundrel or a heartless fool. Quite understandably, I might add. My timing was terrible and I… It is of no consequence now. You are here. You are coming home with me and that is all I need to know. I love you, Margaret, and you'll not convince me that I don't."

"John, I…" She turned fully away from the window and pulled his hands from her face into her lap and clasped them tight. She was trying to say it back – she knew she hadn't said the words yet; there was something terrifying about saying them out loud – a sort of finality that frightened her. But when she had mustered the strength to look up at him, she found herself unable to form a coherent sentence. The intensity of his gaze was crippling, as it had been not an hour ago at the station. How she had even managed to walk back to her train to get her bags was a mystery, because if his gaze was crippling, his kiss was murder. Delicious, agonising death.

The way he stared at her made her heart beat faster, it always had, but now she knew to accept that feeling as good. Her face dropped and her breathe caught in her throat and his eyes flicked back to worry, "Margaret?"

"I'm fine," she found her voice, "It's just… when you look at me like that, I… I can't… it takes my breath away." A look of shock passed briefly on his face and she couldn't help but smile.

"How do I look at you?" He inquired.

"Almost as if no-one else exists." She said breathlessly and he looked pleased with himself. An idea seemed to strike him and he leaned in closer.

"Can I do anything for your present relief?" His voice was low, dripping honey to her ears.

"Stop that." She said seriously, but she was blinking rapidly and he tried to suppress his amusement.

"Stop what?" The smirk that she used to hate so much made her heart stop. There was a long, heavy pause, until finally Margaret brought her hands to rest at the base of his skull, guiding his head down to hers. They were nearly touching and Margaret was transfixed by his lips, when his hand hit the window behind her. He stopped less than an inch from her and she froze, startled eyes flicking back up to his. He canvassed her face for something, searching for something important. She tried to tug him closer but he resisted, hand still firmly planted on the window and refusing to budge. Her fingers dug in involuntarily when she realised with a jolt that his other hand was resting near her waist, not quite touching her, just floating on her skirt above her hip. Judging by his concentration, she wasn't even sure he knew it was there.

She was going to ask what he was looking for, but she changed course, instead her fingers started stroking the back of his neck, playing with his hair. She felt his arm waver beside her head and then the hand on her skirt began to move. His fingers started tracing shapes on her waist, finding solace in the curve of her skin. His eyes closed and his breath rushed out in a long, contented sigh. She moved her hands higher until they were lost in his hair and his arm was twitching yet more at the window. A satisfied hum seemed to be sitting in his chest. He pressed his forehead to hers and brushed his nose against her cheek. She pulled him forward but he kept steadfast, refusing to relinquish the barrier.

"What is it?" She asked, and he chuckled darkly.

"I am afraid." He said simply, "there, do I surprise you?"

"You do. I am astonished."

"I am afraid… that this is all a dream and that if I allow myself to become too content, that I will wake, alone and miserable at the Mills." His eyes flickered under his lids, but they did not open.

"Mr Thornton, I wasn't aware that you were so superstitious?"

"Not superstitious. Just unaccustomed to happiness."

Margaret tilted upwards and kissed his forehead, "When I arrived in Milton, I felt I had left my home, and in doing so, the one place I truly belonged. I felt I would never be sincerely happy again," she ran her lips from his forehead down the long slope of his nose, "then, I returned to Helstone and I felt completely out of place and lost in the world. When I heard about the Mills, I suddenly knew where I belonged." She hovered by his lips, "and when I saw you at the station I believed fate was being cruel; it was dangling you before me, just to snatch you away again. But I do not feel alone now. I feel as though I am home. I swear to you, John… you will never wake up alone again."

She had enough time to register that his arm wasn't stopping them anymore, and then he was pushing her up against the window and his hand was between her head and the hard surface behind her. They were kissing more urgently than at the station now that they knew they were out of sight of prying eyes. Still, they were cautious: conscious of exactly how far they could push it before overstepping the line, although Margaret was pretty certain this kind of display set fire to the line and left it burning in their wake. His hands never strayed, one at her waist and one protecting her head, and his lips never moved from hers, but all he could think about was kissing her ears, her neck, her collarbone, her chest… she was gripping his waistcoat, tugging him ever closer until his whole body was pressing hers to the window.

When they pulled part it was only because the train began to slow. They stayed close, still wrapped up in each other despite their attempt at decorum. They discussed their plans; Margaret couldn't wait to see her friends and John was bursting to set the Mill right again. Both kept quiet about their true desires – to go home, _their_ home, and assure each other in every way possible that neither would ever go back again.

"After I have settled, may I be permitted to visit my friends this evening?" Margaret asked politely, still unsure how to conduct herself in a relationship of such nature.

John was suddenly struck with a cheeky idea and deadpanned, "No, I don't think so."

Margaret's face fell and that slightly bemused, worried expression was one he hadn't seen before. He immediately set about committing it to memory and smiled as they stood to leave the carriage, "Not alone. We will visit them together, for since he began working at the Mills, he and I have struck up a secret kinship that might rival your own," then he kissed her nose and stepped off the train, bags in hand.

She looked after him in shock and only remembered to follow him when the conductor whistled loudly two carriages down. She skipped across the platform and whipped her bag from his grip, "that was very cruel," she admonished unconvincingly.

"Yes, well, I'm a cruel person," he responded and she smiled, looping her arm through the crook of his. "You do not need to ask my permission for things, Margaret. Other marriages might be based on such custom, but I hope ours will not stop to such lows."

She blushed, "I just… I am not accustomed to this."

"And I am?" John raised an eyebrow at her and her blush deepened as they alighted in a taxi carriage.

* * *

"John!? John is that you?" Hanna's voice floated down the hall and Margaret braced herself against the closing door. She could face the wrath of that woman: she has been sure of it in the carriage, but since crossing the threshold her courage seemed to have deserted her.

"Yes Mother," John called back and Margaret swallowed hard. Then she appeared in a blaze of black-cladded fury.

"Where the HELL have you been!? Scaring the life out of me, looking for you, worrying me half to death! Miss Hale came looking for you, trying to help me, comfort me, when I thought… I thought… she trailed away, her face white and her fury gone in an instant. The anger had been hiding what she truly felt – fear. Fear that something had happened to her son, fear that he was not in fact missing but dead or dying somewhere, alone.

"I am not my father and never intend to be," John said quietly, reaching out for his mother, but she drew back when she noticed Margaret.

"I see you're back then," she seemed bitter, "for good I suppose?"

"Yes, Mother, and I'll not hear another word about it," he reached for Margaret and she found she felt much stronger with his support and stepped to his side, gripping his hand in an iron vice. If he was uncomfortable in any way, he didn't show it, "You are to be nice to Miss Hale and see to it that Fanny does the same."

For a moment it looked as though Hanna considered arguing, and then she nodded. Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, she grabbed Margaret's free hand tightly in hers, "Do not hurt my son again, Miss Hale, and you and I shall have no quarrel." The two women looked at each other for a long moment, a mutual agreement seemed to pass, and both nodded. Then Hanna did something even more unexpected. She turned on her heel and jabbed her son sharply in the chest. "And you. You take care of Miss Hale. I raised a good man. See to it that you stay that way."

John looked over at Margaret, "I believe I can manage that just fine," and both his mother and his fiancé relaxed slightly.

"Right. Let's get these bags away. Where has that silly girl got herself to now?" Hanna's brief moment of emotional frankness disappeared like it had never been, replaced with her usual disgruntled attitude. She called out but there was no reply and she huffed, stomping back up the stairs to find the maid. Margaret released John's hand and he winced, rubbing his knuckles.

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

"Don't mention it, it's not a bother." John mumbled, but she grabbed his wrist.

"Nonsense, you should have said something!"

"You needed me more than I needed my fingers intact in that particular instance."

"John!" She scolded, but he shook his hand out and shrugged.

"See, it is already feeling better. I will be fine, don't fret yourself." The maid ran down the stairs and apologised profusely to them both as she picked up the bags and took them away, "And I told you Mother would be fine."

"She doesn't like me."

"No. But I hope she will grow to."

Margaret scoffed – she highly doubted it.

* * *

Twenty minutes later they were in the carriage on their way to the Higgins Residence. At the door, they waited nervously, unsure of the correct way to present themselves, but when Nicholas appeared, they knew they needn't have worried. He yelled excitedly to Mary even as he pulled Margaret into an enormous bear hug, wrapping her in his huge arms and holding her tight. She had almost let herself forget how much she loved them all. When he finally let go, neither had dry eyes and Mary cut in for her own greeting while Nicholas crossed to shake John's hand and invite them in. They sat at the table and Margaret placed a basket of bread and vegetables before them. Nicholas laughed heartily, "You and your bloody baskets, Miss Hale."

"I don't see the harm in keeping with disgruntled tradition," she responded, and he chuckled.

"Aye, that's not far from the truth," he turned to John, "So does this mean the Mill is open again or is it just the engagement you were announcing?" He and John shared a look and he nodded, "good then. No more sitting about twiddling thumbs for me."

"I don't believe you're capable of sitting idle," Margaret said slyly, "not for a moment."

"Well you may be right there Miss Margaret, but I gave it my best try." A hint of sadness creased his brow, telling of the stress of losing his job and the struggle of finding work, but it was gone in an instant. The four boys were dancing around them, trying in vain to draw John's attention, but he was too enraptured by his beloved as she bent down to the two little girls.

"I brought you something. Would you like a doll to share?" She pulled a well-kept doll from the basket and Nicholas started to object, "It is not charity, Nicholas. It is mine, or it used to be. While I was in London I… uh, I thought we had sold all of Father's possessions, except the books, when I moved in with my Aunt and Uncle. Mr Bell never told me that he was the one who bought them. When he left he sent me a letter which I received two weeks ago, explaining that he had bought the entire house with everything in it and had not touched a single possession. So when I came up here to find John," it was at this moment that John slipped his hand over hers, "I stopped by and found a few of my old toys beneath mother's bed. I have no use for them, and I'm sure the girls would like a doll or two to play with, as I used to."

Nicholas sighed but consented and the toy was passed to the children who ran off to play with it. The only one who stayed was James, who was still bouncing up and down by the table. John was so absorbed in Margaret's story that he barely noticed the boy until James tugged at his sleeve expectantly. John shook his head.

"I don't know what you're expecting little fellow… I don't have anything of value." He said, mirth clouding the seriousness of the statement. The boy looked disappointed until John reached into his jacket pocket, "All I have is this dusty old children's book – and that is no use to anyone, is it?" he waved the volume in the air and James beamed and tugged his sleeve again. John let his hand slip from where it had been resting on Margaret's atop the table and he stood and let the boy drag him into the other room. Margaret and Nicholas watched them go, amused, and Mary followed the boys.

"He brings them books. I believe that habit is your influence, because it's certainly not a Milton custom; you bring baskets and he brings books. After the second visit, they started asked him to read to 'em." Higgins told her. Margaret was surprised, but only for a moment. She committed the fact of her influence to memory and crept up to where the door to the boys' room stood ajar. John was sitting with James on his knee while the others sat and listened. Mary was just as enraptured as the children, just as eager to learn as any of them. Margaret leaned against the doorframe and gazed adoringly at her fiancé. "He's a good'un," Nicholas's voice sprung up behind her, "Bessy would've loved to see this. She always said you two would end up together, though lord knows I never saw it 'til after she died, God Bless."

"I'm sorry? Bessy thought this would happen?" Margaret felt a surge of loss that her friend would never see her married and settled: that she would never be able to invite her round for tea or ask for help planning a wedding, which she knew Bessy would have loved.

"Mmhmm, always gave me a look whenever his name came up, always tutted to herself after you left. I always told her it was nonsense, but I'm not ashamed to admit that she knew better than me, nor am I particularly surprised by it." Higgins smiled to himself at the memory. Margaret's eyes flicked back to John's and he watched her staring at her fiancé, remembering a time when he'd regarded his wife that way, before she passed. He wondered if she even realised how completely smitten she looked and quickly decided that he would not be the one to tell her – it was far too amusing – he resolved to just observe silently.

They spent all afternoon with the Higgins' and Margaret chatted at length with Mary while John discussed the Mill with Nicholas. As darkness enveloped the brooding city, however, she had to admit it was time to head back home. She curled her arm through John's as they waved through the carriage window, watching their friends waving excitedly back at them disappearing down the street.

She rested her head on his shoulder and exhaled comfortably as he rested his arm about her shoulders. She noticed him twiddling his fingers and realised that she had hurt him more than he had let on, but she didn't say anything, as she knew he would just claim it was nothing. Instead she brought it to her lips and kissed his knuckles. He tightened his hold around her shoulders and she realised she had just mimicked her actions from the train station; he was looking at her with that intense gaze again and she raised an eyebrow, almost challenging him. He made up his mind, however, and did not move: simply letting his sore hand go limp in hers while she held it gently.

When they arrived home she was loathe to release him, but they were both exhausted and the day had been long. They separated at the door and the maid led her to a room which would become hers. While it was a nice room, she felt for the first time in her life that it was entirely too big and too empty for her. It occurred to her only now that separate beds, even after marriage, was the "done thing" and an unpleasant pit formed in her stomach. Perhaps they might only lie together on special occasions? Perhaps they would only sleep in the same bed once, on the night of their wedding? The thought filled her with dread until she remembered her promise to John. Even if society dictated that they sleep apart, she would never let him wake alone. She would keep her promise.


	2. Sea and Shore

_There are some qualities—some incorporate things,  
That have a double life, which thus is made  
A type of that twin entity which springs  
From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.  
There is a two-fold Silence—sea and shore— Body and soul.  
One dwells in lonely places, Newly with grass o'ergrown;  
some solemn graces, Some human memories and tearful lore,  
Render him terrorless: his name's "No_ More."  
 **  
** _ **Edgar Allen Poe, Silence**  
_

* * *

The next few weeks were a blur. John practically disappeared into his work and Margaret disappeared in the latest novel, and when pressed by Hannah, into wedding planning.

The morning after their arrival, they shared a tense breakfast with Mrs Thornton and Fanny, who had come down early as she often did on Saturday mornings in her eagerness to lord her happiness over that of her mother and brother, and regale them with stories of her week. She did not, however, expect to find Margaret Hale sitting beside her brother eating marmalade on toast like it was perfectly natural.

"Miss Hale! What on earth are you doing here?"

"Miss Hale and I have recently become engaged and intend to marry within the next three months." John said. Margaret hid her surprise well; they had not discussed the wedding at all yet, and it made her happy to think that he wanted such a short engagement.

"Sorry?" Fanny asked, dumbstruck.

"Sit down and have some breakfast Fanny, for goodness sake." Hannah said grumpily, looking to avoid an outburst. She was too late.

"You're marrying my brother?"

"That's right." Margaret countered Fanny's incredulous tone with one of utmost patience.

"You?" She made a face. John's hand balled into a fist on his thigh and Margaret quickly reached for it, threading her fingers through his.

"Yes. I do not see what is so spectacularly surprising about that."

"And you're alright with this?" Fanny turned to Mrs Thornton. Hannah nodded carefully, a look of distaste on her face. John twitched and Margaret knew she would not be able to contain him for long.

"I thought you didn't like John? Or did you realise you needed the money?" Fanny asked, "Cause it'll be no use to you now, he's got none!"

John stood up so fast he knocked food off his plate and Margaret grabbed his arm, "How dare-"

"John," she pulled him back, "Don't!" He was fuming, chest heaving angrily, and Fanny's nostrils were flaring with satisfaction at the reaction she'd managed to get. He moved to yell again but Margaret stepped in front of him and put her hand on his chest, "John, it doesn't matter."

He shook his head, distressed, "Yes, it does, she is suggesting-"

"And you and I know it is not true, so what does it matter what she thinks?"

He glanced between her and Fanny. He was torn between defending her honour and obeying her wishes, but eventually he calmed and sat back down to his breakfast, which he proceeded to scoop off the table back onto his plate. Fanny occupied herself heaping far too much food on her dish and then making faces at everyone throughout the rest of the sufficiently quiet, awkward breakfast. Margaret's hand was on John's knee, and stayed there for the duration of Fanny's stories about her husband's money and her new dresses, and was the only thing keeping him from throttling his younger sister. When breakfast eventually ended, Hannah took Fanny into the drawing room and Margaret turned to her fiancé.

"You shouldn't let her get to you, you know." She stood behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders, stroking the back of his neck and leaning her chin on his head.

John sighed, "It is not right for her to say such things."

"No. But that is no longer your issue, it is one for her husband to deal with."

"Really? And how do you propose I deal with you when you speak out of turn?" He twisted slightly, his voice teasing as he pulled one of her hands into his own.

Margaret stood up straighter and smiled sweetly, "I am different."

"How so?"

"You have always _liked_ it when I speak out of turn. I saw you smiling when you believed I could not see at that dinner with the Mill owners." She said triumphantly. He coloured slightly but remained otherwise unchanged in expression.

"You're right, of course. In light of that, I change my question."

"Oh?"

John moved quickly, tugging her hand and yanking her down into his lap and she gasped in surprise before raising her eyebrow at him scoldingly. Her gaze softened immediately when she felt his arm holding her around the waist, keeping her steady as her legs dangled inches from the ground.

"How do you propose I _reward_ you when you speak out of turn?" His voice was low and had a hidden quality to it, one that Margaret found intoxicating. She didn't even notice as her hand slid up his shoulder to his face.

"What do you think is best?" She breathed.

"I have a couple of ideas," he murmured suggestively and she swallowed as he leaned in closer, his hand on her knee and his eyes lighting fires wherever they glanced. He'd barely brushed her lips, however, when Hannah stormed back in.

"For goodness sake, will you two get a hold of yourselves! At least try to _act_ like upstanding members of society!" She clipped, and Margaret blushed scarlet and tried to move, but John's arm kept her there.

"We are not in society; we are in our home. I do not see that it bothers anyone."

"It bothers me. You are not married yet, and I expect you to at least _try_ and maintain an air of decorum! Besides, John, you are going to be late for your meeting about the Mills, and you cannot expect to start your business again if you do not arrive on time."

"A business that would not be a business at all without Miss Hale." John said, frustrated.

"She is right you know," Margaret said and John glared at her, while Hannah looked surprised. "You're supposed to be getting things set up as quickly as possible, because we will not be able to be married until everything is stable. Or, I suppose we could marry, but a honeymoon would be out of the question."

"I cannot believe you would use our union against me." He said grumpily and she kissed his forehead, removing herself from his lap.

"Of course you can." She smiled cheekily at him and he shook his head as she left for her room. Hannah, who had been observing the whole exchange sceptically from the corner, found her opinion of Margaret Hale shift slightly. She cursed internally, for she had been praying that the girl could still turn out to be a terrible match for her son. However, as she already knew, and had always known, Miss Hale was the one woman who could take her son away.

"Do try to be kind, Mother." John said as he grabbed his coat.

"I said I would accept her here, as long as she never hurt you again. So far, she has managed and so will I."

* * *

Margaret knew she had to inform her family in London that she was engaged, but she wasn't sure where to start. She decided she would start with Edith.

 _Dear Edith,_

 _I'm sure by the time this letter arrives, Henry will have returned. I do not know how much he will have told you about the events that transpired at the train station, but I will do my best to tell a full account now. I am sorry for his distress, but you must know that I never intended to marry Henry; I told you so on more than one occasion, and I know you wish our family connection to be closer, but as you are like a sister to me in any case, I hardly believe my marrying Henry would have changed anything. I know you wished me to live in London with you, but it has just never suited me to be there, and I am moving to Milton in the coming months. I am engaged to John Thornton and I find that even I am surprised. I thought I may never see him again, but when I heard he was in trouble, I could not just sit by and let it happen. When I saw him in the train station, I was surprised: I thought I had wasted my last chance to see him, having not found him in Milton. Then, of course, he found me in the station, and approached me having just returned from a trip to Helstone – he had gone looking for me, or at least, looking for the place I used to love so much. I was surprised, but not as surprised as he became once I told him of my plan to invest in his Mills, and despite my insistence that it was only a business matter, he knew that I cared for him. Oh I do care for him Edith – I love him, despite my promise that I never would. I am sorry to Henry, but I would never have been a proper wife to him; he would have wished to stifle me and stop me from speaking my mind, as he has attempted to before, which is something that John would never do._

 _I am getting married in two and a half months and do hope that you can attend, with Aunt, Uncle, the Colonel and baby Scholto, and even Henry if he wishes, although I bear no ill will if he does not. I have sent separate summons to Dixon as I would prefer she comes up a month before the wedding (if she consents) to become my lady's maid, as she was for my mother. I hope to see you in two months time, my favourite cousin, and I do so hope to hear from you soon. Until then, I send my best wishes and my love to you all,_

 _Margaret_

The other letters were harder to write, and a lot shorter than the one to Edith, but she managed to finish them all before lunch and returned downstairs to where Hannah was waiting.

"Finished writing?" She asked brusquely.

"Yes, I will post them on Monday so they have an understanding of events at the earliest possible convenience. I am sure I have given them quite a big fright just not returning like that."

"So, you were not planning on coming home with John?" Hannah probed.

"Not entirely. I had just hoped to restore myself in his good graces, and to stop Marlborough Mills from collapsing. But when I tried to explain that it was nothing more than a business proposition, and that he would in no way be obliged to me, he… proposed."

"Did he now?" Mrs Thornton asked, noting the suspicious pause and brushing past it.

"Yes, and I just… I couldn't say anything, I just stared at him. Then the bell went for the train back to London, and I retrieved my bags from Henry and-"

"Henry?" Her tone was fraught with suspicion.

Margaret flushed in annoyance, "My cousin's brother-in-law who was supposed to help me explain the business proposition. He was… less than pleased at my leaving."

"Were your family encouraging a match?" Hannah was interested now, but trying to hide it.

"Henry proposed to me before we moved to Milton, and I refused him." Margaret stated matter-of-factly.

"Ah."

"But my cousin did rather encourage him in his reattachment to me, despite my objection. I began to believe that an unhappy marriage was my only option, but I swore that I would resign myself to a life of spinsterhood before I allowed that to happen."

"I recall saying to John once that I believed it would take a lot for someone to stop you from doing something you had set your mind to. I see that I was correct, in the most part. Yet your refused my son once before – what changed your opinion of him?"

Margaret shook her head, "I do not know. I barely understand the part of myself that refused him – someone who's pride had been hurt by his manner of proposal and by comments overheard when servants of this house and Fanny thought me unconscious. I suppose I just did not want my actions judged by people who had no cause to be judging them, and to be able to make my own decisions without scrutiny. Just as with the incident at the train station." The last statement had a hard edge to it, and before Hannah could ask what it was that the servants had been gossiping about with her daughter, she bristled at the implication of her interference.

"Miss Hale, I was simply acting on behalf-"

"The man I was embracing at the train station was my brother. He is on the run from the law and so I had to set him on a train in the night without so much as a proper goodbye." She cut in swiftly, and Hannah blinked.

"Miss Hale… I had no idea." She cursed the girl for having a reasonable explanation for her actions but appeared outwardly as interested as she could.

So Margaret spent a great deal of time explaining Frederick's situation to her future mother-in-law and Mrs Thornton listened intently, only interrupting to clarify details or make small noises of affirmation. By the time lunch was through, Miss Hale felt that Hannah disliked her a little less, which she hadn't believed was possible, and so pondered the existence of miracles while she waited for her fiancé to arrive home.

* * *

He appeared in the hallway just before dinner, apologising as he closed the door and dripping wet from the torrents of rain streaming from the sky. He'd been to the bank, he told them, and then to Higgin's about the petition of workers, then to the Mills themselves to see what he could achieve in an afternoon, and then returned to the bank to pick up paperwork for Margaret to sign.

"Excellent. How soon can we be up and running?" Margaret asked and John's mind did cartwheels at the use of 'we'.

"Everything should be fully sorted by mid-week, but work can commence after the weekend, to get ahead of the bank – I made sure that was acceptable under the current laws."

"Wonderful, son." Hannah said, "Will you be attending Sunday Morning Service tomorrow?" He frowned at her and she chuckled, "Suppose it'll just be me and your Miss Hale then, unless Fanny decides to grace us with her presence again."

"There's just so much to be done-"

"Son, you do not need to make excuses for hard work. I'm sure God will forgive you for a few missed services. I'm sure he forgives us for all the rest as well. Besides, it is your Miss Hale you should be apologising to. She is the one who will be most upset at the deprivation of your company." There was an edge to her voice but she disguised her bitterness with a hasty smile and vacated the table. John looked to his fiancé who was smiling absent-mindedly at her empty plate and he stood and placed his hands on her shoulders as she had done that morning. He bent down to her ear.

"Much as I am loathe to admit it, Mother is right – the next few weeks at least will be very busy. I will leave immediately after breakfast and not return until after dinner, and to begin with I will have to spend weekends in the Mill organising the logistics and business of reopening. I will not be in your company anywhere near as much as I wish to be."

Margaret nodded, "I understand. I would not expect you to neglect my business proposal, but…"

"But?"

"I know that I said you would not be obliged to me, but if I'm not going to see you because of something I did, I have a request."

"Anything love." His nose brushed the hair behind her ear and she sighed, frustrated that she would not feel him beside her so often.

"Just remember to come home. Now that I am here, you have a reason to avoid sleeping in your office, and I expect that you take care of yourself – sleep in your own bed."

"Huh." He raised his eyebrow.

"What is it?"

"I expected your request to be a little more… demanding." He said softly, kissing her temple.

"Not this time. However, if after a month you are still working quite so much, I will have to renegotiate the parameters of this agreement."

"I find that sentiment perfectly agreeable." John acknowledged, and kissed her cheek, "I do not wish to work so much any more than you wish me to. After we are married we can honeymoon for as long as you wish in a faraway country around lots of people we do not know."

"Oh no," Margaret said with conviction and he looked confused, "I would much rather go somewhere very quiet with almost no people at all, than an exotic country."

"So you are saying you wish to honeymoon in Helstone?" He asked, amused.

"Not precisely Helstone, but a quiet country area where no-one can be offended, and the countryside is beautiful and you can pick me more of my favourite flowers." It was at this exact second she realised how completely smitten and immature she sounded, gushing to him about flowers, and she trailed off.

"Quiet country honeymoon it is." John was smiling, but it was no longer quietly amused; it was a smile of love, one that would have agreed to anything she said so long as she kept blushing in that way. He pressed his lips to her temple again, holding them there as he spoke, "For as long as possible. Goodnight, my love." He squeezed her shoulders and she kissed his hand as he withdrew it and retired for the evening. She thought about the events of the past two days and blushed at some of the things she'd said and done, but in the long run she knew she would not be embarrassed – she was far too in love to care how she looked to others, and she knew he was far too in love to notice that anything she did was improper.

As she lay in bed, she felt restless, and found that sleeping alone was just not satisfactory anymore. She wished to fall asleep in his arms and wake up beside him, and though her bed had never been occupied by anyone but herself, it felt suddenly empty. It occurred that while their engagement would be announced in the paper in the next few days, there were very few people who even knew she had returned to Milton, and even then, she did not know many people in any capacity past brief acquaintance. She brightened the room and grabbed some paper from the side-table.

 **Those People Whom I Wish to Attend:**

 **Those Who Can:  
** _ **Nicholas  
**_ _ **Mary  
**_ _ **Sarah & Millicent  
**_ _ **James, Billy, Timothy, Harrison  
**_ _ **Edith, Scholto & Captain Lennox  
**_ _ **Dixon**_

 **Those Who Cannot:  
** _ **Mother  
**_ _ **Father  
**_ _ **Bessy  
**_ _ **Mr Bell**_

 _ ***FREDERICK***_

She then turned the page over and began to rehearse a new signature, using multiple variations on Margaret Thornton until she had no more space left to write. She folded the page in half and tucked it under the pillow. Margaret felt immediately more comfortable, and resolved to keep it under her pillow every night to absolve her of loneliness, and to remind her of who she had always been, and who she would become.

* * *

 **Sorry I left it for so long, but I've just finished moving back to the UK and things were a bit hectic for a few weeks there but I'm back on track now. This story will have some twists and turns to it, but if you want a quick and easy happy ending feel free to stop at the end of this chapter just here. If you'd like a bit more narrative and hardship, do read on, but beware of angst. I hope you enjoyed it.**


	3. Joy Departed

_In visions of the dark night_  
 _I have dreamed of joy departed_  
 _But a waking dream of life and light_  
 _Hath left me broken-hearted._

 **Edgar Allen Poe, A Dream**

* * *

Nearly a month after her arrival, she was walking to visit Mary and the children, as had become daily tradition since her return. She enjoyed cooking with them; after Mary worked so hard in the Mill kitchen at lunch, Margaret felt her friend deserved a rest. She told no-one but John where she was going, and although Hannah seemed to be aware, it was never discussed over the wedding planning, which was becoming more and more central to her days as the weeks drifted by. John had suggested she take the carriage, but she had refused, despising any sort of display of wealth in the poorer parts of town – she was not better than them and she would not act like she was. He understood, but made her swear to be careful and asked her to always be back by four in the afternoon if she could manage it. At first she had been disgruntled at what seemed like an instruction, but he promised it was only a request for her safety and she begrudgingly agreed.

She had not seen him anywhere near as much as she would have liked to since her return, and she was beginning to crave his affections. More than anything she missed his presence in the afternoons, which was more than likely why she surrounded herself with things to do at the Higgins's to take her mind off it. Often she pondered how strange it was that she had never required the physical presence of another person before, and yet after having only two days of closeness with her fiancé, it was torture to be so aggressively removed from it. He appeared to be feeling the strain of it as well, despite his constant assurance that he was perfectly fine. Every evening he returned long after night had fallen, exhausted and in need of food, sleep and a stiff drink, but what he desired more than anything else was to hold Margaret in his arms; to make up for all the days they had spent apart, to help them forget what they each had been through, and yet he couldn't. By the time he returned most evenings, she had fallen asleep in a chair by the fire waiting for him, or had written him a note explaining how tired she was and that she would see him for breakfast, having retired to her room. Even when she was awake, all they could manage, exhausted as they were and with Hannah casting her watchful eye from the corner, was a peck on the cheek and an embrace before bed.

What seemed to be the worst for both of them, however, was the half hour they glimpsed each other at breakfast. John would sit at the head of the table as he had always done, and she would sit to one side, his mother to the other, and occasionally Fanny if the whim took her to visit. So for half an hour every morning, they had to sit almost directly beside each other, not kissing, not touching, just eating side by side, and every meal was torment. The few brief times their fingers had intertwined beneath the table had simply made it worse, as they missed the contact yet more once he left for work. Yet from another's point of view, they could have been perfectly content; discussing money and the Mills, Nicholas and the children, the planning of their wedding, they appeared at ease. Margaret wondered how he slept, and how much of his distress he discussed with Nicholas over lunch, and never did she raise complaint at how much he'd been gone. Until Dixon arrived in the next day or two, she had no-one to confide in about her worries, and only making lunch for six hungry children as a distraction. Not that she didn't adore her extended family here in Milton: she loved them exhaustingly. She just wished she had the time to love the other person in her life a little more openly.

* * *

That afternoon she walked her usual route to the Higgins' residence, and was just thinking about how little she'd seen of Nicholas since the Mills reopened, when something big and human shaped hit her. She was thrown into the wall by the force of it and was still trying to gather her bearings when someone grabbed her wrists behind her back and held a knife to her throat.

"You make a sound, you die." Bad breath accompanied the voice – so bad she felt it was rotting her own flesh away, and she gagged, but stayed silent.

She was shoved roughly down a side alley and through an open doorway. It was dark and smelled worse than his breath, and she nearly vomited but kept her composure despite the nausea swimming around her gut. He shoved her aggressively into a chair and pointed a long, sharp knife at her. She swallowed, eyeing him carefully.

"I know you." She realised, trying to remain calm despite the fear at her heels.

"You met me not two years ago at Marlborough Mills," his face was sunken and hungry, and his clothes were stained and tattered. His teeth were brown, falling out or missing, which seemed to be the cause of the terrible odour from his mouth. Try as she might however, in the near darkness of the room, she could not ascertain the location of the revolting stench lurching around her.

"Yes, I remember. Stephens, wasn't it? You were smoking and Mr Thornton kicked you out."

"Beat me within an inch of my life more like. You stood up for me," he paused and his eyes glinted, "but you seem to have changed your tune recently. I've been watching."

Margaret was swallowed whole by fear. This man, this clearly deranged man, had been watching her: on her walks to the Higgins, through the window to breakfast, whatever else she could not be sure, but she could not fathom a sane man watching her. She was surely going to collapse in hysterics. " _NO,"_ a voice in her head whispered, _"you will be fine. Just stay calm."_

"I believe you announced your engagement to Mr Thornton over a month ago now." The disgust was unmistakable in his tone and she nodded, unsure if words were safe. "Congratulations."

Margaret swallowed, "Thank you." She said quietly.

"Rescind your acceptance of his offer." He said flatly. An instruction.

"I'm sorry?" Margaret asked, praying she had misheard.

"Call off the wedding."

"Why would I do that?" Her heart was thumping erratically and her lungs weren't taking in enough air.

"Because if you don't I will have to move to the end of the plan a little earlier than I wanted."

"What does that mean?" She asked, frightened.

"Well, it's simple. It is very similar to what happened to Thornton Senior, but this won't be self-inflicted. I believe Mr Thornton is fond of working late, and often forgets to close the Mill door."

He had been watching both of them. Who knew for how long. There was an unhinged way about him and Margaret knew that he would not hesitate to kill her or John. She also knew that even if she broke off the engagement like the man wanted, he still might kill John. Her eyes were adjusting and some of the room was coming into focus, but not enough to figure out where she was or if there was any use screaming for help.

"Tell him that you cannot marry him." He said more forcefully and she balked as the knife swung closer.

"Why are you doing this?" She asked.

"I need to torture him, like he tortured me."

"One beating hardly qualifies as torture," Margaret quipped and immediately regretted it as his scream of anger erupted.

"One beating!?" His face was a twisted mask of fury, "I would have preferred a beating! He fired me! And because I was sacked I couldn't get work ANYWHERE! The neighbours brought us food for a time, then the strike forced them to stop. My wife left me! My son DIED. MY DAUGHTER RAN AWAY AND REFUSES TO SEE ME. My whole life was ruined! BECAUSE OF THAT MAN!" He threw a chair across the room and kicked her in the shin. She buckled over and a tempered whisper escaped her lips. Stephens smashed a nearby bowl on the floor beside her and she flinched. She realised as she did that this must be his house. She saw something in the corner under a sheet and swallowed the bile rising in her throat. No, it couldn't be… she quickly looked away, but he spotted the direction of her eyes and stomped to the far wall. He ripped the sheet away to reveal the body of his dead son, half rotted from six months of decomposition, and that horrendous smell only thickened in the air. Margaret closed her eyes a split second too late and the image of the long dead boy seared itself into her memory.

"I'm sorry!" She gasped, "I'm so, so sorry about your family, but I had nothing to do with that, just –"

"No, but HE did. He needs to feel the same pain I felt when the love of my life left me."

"Please, John didn't do anything –"

"OR, I can kill him and bring you along to watch."

"Margaret's blood ran ice cold. "Please. Please don't hurt him."

"You're going to sit here," He grabbed a swathe of paper from the floor, "and write Mr Thornton a letter. Break off your engagement, and do it convincingly. You will not leave my sight until I know for sure he believes this letter. I will read any incarnations of the letter you write. You will give me the letter when it is finished and I will deliver it to his door. When I am convinced he is truly heartbroken, you will be allowed to leave, only to stay with a friend or move back to where you came from. Do not forget that I will be watching Marlborough Mills and I will know if you return."

Margaret shook her head pleadingly but he stomped on her shin again and she doubled over in agony, "Please. Just kill me, don't hurt him! Kill me, please. Please…" She begged, but he ignored her.

"Start writing. If you do this exactly as I say, no-one will be hurt. If not, you both die. And I promise you Miss Hale – he will go first so you know it was your fault."

Margaret went numb. She had finally found a place where she was safe and equal and loved and it was being snatched away from her _again._ She nodded silently and found the courage to do what she had to do for John's life. Stephens was still repeating threats but she couldn't hear them: she couldn't hear anything but the sound of her jagged breathing and the scratch of falsehoods being committed to paper. She couldn't see properly either: everything was drifting in and out of focus and even as he directed her to a table she found it difficult to get the words out, found it difficult to lie and cause her love so much pain. She swallowed again but her throat was dry and her tongue felt heavy. For hours or minutes or day or years she wrote, and for eons he stood over her, tearing pages to pieces above her head and smashing plates across the room when she displeased him. She barely noticed. Ultimately, the approach of night was the reason he stopped, as the house was dark even in daylight, and became almost pitch black in the evening, and he didn't want to raise suspicion. So with a final cursory glance the last draft of the letter was approved and Margaret could already feel the effect it was going to have.

The letter was folded and placed in an envelope, and Stephens dragged her into another room and tied her to the bedpost of an empty rusted bed and the bars on the windows beside it. She peered out of the window into the alleyway below but it was pitch black and she had a feeling that no-one would hear her if she called for help. Even if she could get out of the ties, her leg was badly bruised and she was in shock – she couldn't have run if she tried. Stephens left to take the letter to Marlborough Mills and she drifted in and out of icy, numb consciousness until long after his return.

* * *

It had been a long day and John was missing his fiancé. He cursed himself for not giving them another day before he started work, but she had encouraged him and for some reason he found it difficult to say no to her. He thought about kissing her, despite the definite presence of his mother, and decided against it. Just another few weeks and they would be married. Just another few weeks and he could kiss her as much as he liked, and he sighed for the slow passage of time.

The last order of the day were a few letters he had not had time to read when they arrived that morning, and he shuffled through them, wondering which he could leave until the next morning. Most were business-like, but one he hadn't noticed earlier was now sitting separate from the pile, perched keenly on the edge of his desk. On the envelope was written, _For the eyes of John Thornton_.

He seemed to recall now, a young girl from the lunch rotation had timidly approached while he was deep in thought and he'd told her to leave it wherever she could find a space. He unfolded the paper and immediately recognised Margaret's handwriting.

 _John,_

 _I do not know how to say this. I do not want to hurt you any more than I have done already, but you must know that I cannot marry you. You could not have expected me to live with you and your mother and endure the visits of your sister here in Milton for the rest of my life? While I do not dislike you, I do not love you, and never have.  
I am so sorry, but you must have realised by now that I am miserable here? My agreement to your engagement was merely a combination of guilt at my previous behaviour, and shock at your actions in the train station. I cannot fathom what made you act in this way, but if I had not accepted your proposal then, my reputation would have been damaged. I wonder now that it has taken me this long to broach the subject, but it shows just how uncomfortable I have been for these weeks._

 _I see now that it matters neither way whether I marry you or not, as I am not known in these parts, and the only close witness was Henry – he would not mention it to anyone, as he was deeply upset by it and would not beg a discussion on the matter. As I have resolved myself safe from impairment, I remove myself from your attachment and return to London. You will not see me again. Please, just forget about me. It will serve you well in the future._

 _Margaret_

He sat in astonished silence for a long time, just reading and rereading the letter, as his brain did not seem to be able to comprehend the words laid out before him. How was this possible? What was going on? How could he fix it?

What had he done to hurt her so? He thought back on that day in the train station. Even at the time he had wondered at his actions, cursed himself for being too bold, prayed for a miracle when she had backed away to her train. But she had returned had she not? Perhaps it was as she said - she felt her reputation would be tarnished. But surely... she had kissed him in the carriage, told him she would take care of him, worried about the future. The memory of her tear drifted up from the recesses of his head, now with a new meaning; what if she had not been crying at her past, but at the possibility of a future with him? When he had kissed her he'd moved slowly, pressing his lips to hers only briefly before waiting for her to show him it was okay. He had only deepened the kiss further when she had let go of his hand to tenderly reach for him, gripping his arm on one side and the bench on the other, willing him to kiss her. Perhaps he was wrong, however. Perhaps she had meant to stop him but had never been accosted in such a way before she didn't know how.

He sat frozen, unable to move, as vicious thoughts and retellings of the past month whirled unrestrainedly around his head.

* * *

The next morning, a knock came at the door and he was shaken from his depressive stupor long enough to invite the person in.

Nicholas Higgins entered the office, closing the door behind him, "Sir, did you go home last night?"

Thornton shook his head numbly.

"Now, sir, you know how Miss Margaret likes you to be home. I'll bet she's worried sick about you, and you know you'll get a good hiding if you make a habit out of it…" he trailed off when he saw the pallor of his friend's skin. "Sir? Thornton, you alright?"

"Margaret." Was all he could manage in response.

"What's wrong, is she ill? Is she injured? She did not come to see the children for lunch yesterday, Mary was telling me." Higgins asked, worried, but John shook his head again, anger clouding his handsome features. He seemed transfixed by something on his desk.

"She has decided that… that she cannot marry me. As we speak she is presumably packing for the next train to London," he said softly. Higgins' jaw dropped slightly and he blinked slowly, mind reeling from the information.

"No."

"Yes, Higgins." John threw the piece of paper at him and as Higgins' eyes travelled down the page, he only became more certain that it could not be true.

"No." He repeated more forcefully.

"Yes Higgins! She is leaving and I can't do anything to stop her." He was hunched, defeated.

"So, what, someone just dropped this off for you?"

"Yes."

"She wrote you a letter and gave it to someone else to give you it in person?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Higgins –"

Nicholas cut him off, "No, sir, think about it. Our Margaret wouldn't do that. For one, she's far too stubborn – she made her decision and she'll stick to it. For another, when have you ever known her to shy away from conflict? If she were really going to leave for London, she'd give you a proper piece of her mind before she left. And… she loves you Thornton."

"She doesn't love me. She never admitted to it, and any other intimations of affection were lies. She lied."

"No, sir, she didn't."

"How can you be so sure?" Thornton asked disbelievingly.

"Why aren't you?" Nicholas jabbed back, and John glared at him before staring back at the spot on the desk where the letter used to be. He rolled his eyes and drew up a chair, clapping John on the shoulder and looking in his eyes. "Because she couldn't have faked what I always saw; lighting up whenever she looked at you, even when you couldn't see. She watches you – commits you to memory. Back when my wife were alive, I used to do it to her, and when she were dying I did it so much I think she thought I was going round the bend. You do it to Margaret as well, even if you don't realise it, but she does it more fervently, like I used to, because she's lost so many. She's trying to keep you locked in her brain forever, so that if she does lose you, it won't hurt so much. You can fake the words, but you cannot fake that. Who would bother to fake it when no-one's watching?"

John just sat there, unmoved, completely and utterly numb, bereft of joy. Nicholas wasn't even sure he'd heard. He huffed angrily and stomped out of the room to get to work for the day.

John stared at the desk, his mind still reeling, going over every inch of their time together trying to find pieces of the puzzle that didn't match, but unfortunately, as had always been his issue, his brain was his enemy. It was already twisting things around without his notice, finding moments that meant nothing and making them sore, and moments that made him happy and presenting reasons for their inability to be true. He couldn't sleep if he tried, but to the outside world he may well have been in a coma for all the response he gave to its calls.

* * *

The next morning Stephens seemed a little more cheerful, a little less deranged, and he brought her a glass of what looked like water taken directly from the gutters. She had not had anything to drink since the day before, but still she did not drink it, just poured little portions into the stained mattress whenever he left the room. He had no food, none even for himself, and she was lightheaded from hunger and dehydration, but she was intelligent enough to know not to complain or ask for anything. She simply sat silently all day as he drifted in and out of her room, occasionally bringing the knife with him as if to remind her she was still in danger, as if the thought had ever left her head.

"What made you change your mind?" He asked her sullenly.

"I'm sorry?"

"About _him._ What was it that made you want to marry him?"

"I… I do not know. I saw past his first impression and found the man I love beneath it. I love him." She said. A realisation hit her like a brick and she felt a sudden urge to vomit, but not from the smell. She had never said it. She had never said the words. There had never seemed to be the right time for it; breakfast with his mother or evenings of exhaustion hadn't seemed right for a declaration of affection and they hadn't had a moment with just the two of them since those first two days. Why hadn't she said it on the train? Why didn't she say it when Fanny and Hannah left the room? Why was she so afraid of those words?

"What qualities? What exactly is it?" He was becoming agitated at her unsatisfactory answers and she tried again.

"Ah, it is just… I realised how kind he is, and how pained he feels at the conditions of the workers in other Mills, which is why he tries so hard to improve his. I realised what an honourable man he is, and how intelligent and how enjoyable his company is, I realised the many things we share in common. I… I love everything about him."

"Even his temper?" Stephens asked darkly, and she realised that this was what he was really asking; how could she love a man who she had seen beat another?

"His temper has waned in the past months, and he rarely lets it get the better of him anymore. But… surely after two warnings not to smoke-" She bit her tongue too late and he struck her across the face and stormed from the room, smashing dishes as he went. She heard the front door slam and knew that he had gone to get food for the evening. Looking out the grimy window into the empty alleyway, she could see shadows streaking across the cobbles and she knew it would be dark again soon. She wondered if John believed her letter, and it occurred to her that even if he did, Nicholas would not let him – Nicholas knew that she would never leave John, he would set him straight. She hoped.

Stephens returned well after dark with half a loaf of stale bread from a bin in his hand. He ate it as he untied her and she met his eyes in the gloom.

"He believed it. You can go. But don't forget, I'm watching Marlborough Mills, so you'll not get in without my seeing you. Leave town, move to the Americas for all I care, just do not contact John Thornton. Understand?" He was holding the knife menacingly again.

She nodded mutely even as her heart perished at the news and rubbed her wrists as she limped to the door. She tried to ignore the half-exposed corpse on the floor but she couldn't disregard the disgusting odour as it filled her nostrils once more. Stumbling onto the street she started to head to the only place she knew was safe.

* * *

Nicholas looked up to Thornton's office as he left for the evening, and saw his light still on and no movement behind the panes. He rubbed his forehead, debating whether or not it was even worth it to go back up there again. All day he'd been pondering the letter – it was definitely Margaret's handwriting and signature, and definitely the turns of phrase she would use, but it just didn't ring true with what he had seen.

"Sir," he opened the door to find Thornton in the exact position he'd left him in. John's eyes flicked tin his direction but he otherwise remained unmoved. "Sir, go home. There's not use staying here. If Margaret isn't there, see that she's packed, or given any indication that she intends to leave. You're no use to anyone in this state. Please just… go home, Thornton." With that, Higgins walked out of the Mill fully aware that John would do nothing of the kind in his mood, and headed home to find a very interesting package on his doorstep.

* * *

John barely heard his friend's advice, so deep in thought was he, and so he could not heed it. He sat at his desk, as he had all the night previously and racked his memories for any hint that things had not been as he thought they were.

She had seemed happy. He had been so sure of that. She had invited his affections and even made some advances herself; she had told him how sorry she was for refusing him the first time. She had promised, sworn, she would never leave him, never let him feel that way again. Yet surely there must have been signs: some hint that all was not as it seemed?

He had been far too absent in the last month, and for the millionth time he cursed himself for neglecting his duty to her. Maybe his mother or Fanny had said something to her that made her feel she could no longer stay? He couldn't have put it past them, but the theory held no water, as he had been so certain that Fanny's attitudes had never phased Margaret, and his mother had vowed to be kind to his fiancé. Perhaps she was just afraid of marriage and had reacted in the knee-jerk way she had the first time he'd proposed? But then surely if that were true she would have done this long before now.

Then something clicked rather unpleasantly in his head; _"I don't love you and never have,"_ she had never said she had. She had never said the words, never responded to his declaration with one of her own. The dark expression he had permanently worn before her acquaintance had, unbeknownst to him, settled back around his face like an old friend. He stood and began pacing up and down and he continued that way until the sun came up over his despair for the second time.


	4. Nevermore

_But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only_  
 _That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour._  
 _Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—_  
 _Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before—_  
 _On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."_  
 _Then the bird said "Nevermore."_

 ** _Edgar Allen Poe, The Raven_  
**

* * *

Nicholas walked away from the Mill, knowing that his friend was going to sit in his office alone for the second night in a row, knowing how dangerously his friend was spiralling, and he worried. He considered going back to the Mill just to keep an eye, but even then he didn't know how much help that would be. Then there was the small matter of the other unpleasant idea filling his head – that something had happened to Margaret, or even that she _was_ leaving John of her own volition – and he decided that he would go home and sleep on it before making any sort of judgement.

He didn't get the chance, however. When he arrived home, he found Margaret Hale, pale and frightened, on his doorstep. There was some blood on her shoes and her dress was torn, but she seemed otherwise healthy. He knelt down and put his hand on her shoulder and she flinched.

"It's alright," he said kindly, "it's alright. Come inside, hey? Get you warm."

She nodded, still staring into the dark streets behind them and he guided her inside, where she sat at her usual spot at the table. He poured her a glass of water and she knocked it back so fast he wasn't sure it had ever been there, so he gave her another which she proceeded to drink more measuredly. After a long silence where he waited for her to start talking, he just came out with it.

"Margaret? Sweetheart? What's going on?" If Margaret hadn't known about Nicholas's impeccable fatherly instincts before, she knew now. He sounded so concerned, but remarkably patient as though he didn't mind how long it took for her to explain, and she found herself missing her father more than ever.

"I… I…" She tried. She shook her head.

"Why did you write that letter to John?" He asked and she gasped and clapped her hands over her eyes as though not being able to see the world would make it go away. "Margaret, come on now, we both know you didn't _want_ to write that note. Why did you do it?"

There was a long pause, so long that Higgins considered asking again, but eventually, "He said he'd kill him," Margaret said numbly.

"Who's gonna kill him?"

"Stephens." She hissed.

"Stephens who used to work for Thornton?" Higgins asked, shocked that a family man could have done such a thing.

"Yes," she whispered, "He grabbed me on the way here for lunch yesterday, and he locked me in a room and told me if I did not write that letter to John, that he would kill him."

"And you believed him?" He asked gently.

"He was holding a rather large knife to me at the time." Margaret's tone sharpened and Nicholas became enraged at the thought of someone threatening his friends, "And… and he said… the way he was talking, he knows far too much about the running of the Mills, and he said… he's been watching us."

"Watching you?"

"He knew I'd been in that alley at that time, and he knew things about John and how late he worked and what route he takes out of the Mill and… I think he's been watching us for quite a long time. I believe he has been planning this for a long time." Margaret spoke with conviction despite her misery and not for the first time, Nicholas Higgins marvelled at the courage of his friend, on whom so much hardship had fallen.

"Why would he do such a thing?"

"He blames John for everything – his wife leaving, his son dying, his daughter running away – instead of acknowledging his own fault, he chooses to pass the blame to his employer."

"I didn't know his son had died. I knew his wife had left 'cause he couldn't get work, and then he and his children just kind of dropped off the radar after the strike and I thought they might've moved like I was planning to. How awful for him. It's no excuse for what he's doing, but it is a terrible thing to lose a child." His voice held the pain of his own loss.

"His son," Margaret gagged slightly even thinking about it, "He didn't have the money to bury his son. His body has been kept well through the winter but now that it is nearly through spring, it has begun to rot-" She choked off, barely holding herself together as the image flashed through her mind yet again and Nicholas's insides churned at what she must have gone through.

"So what are we going to do about it?"

"I don't know. I just don't want him to hurt John."

"I think he's already managed to hurt John, through you." Nicholas said gently.

"I know, but surely that is better than dead or dying?" Margaret seemed to need the reassurance that she made the right decision, that hurting him was the only choice she had, and he wrapped her up in a hug.

"It's alright love. We'll work it out, we'll get you two safe and sound and I'm sure you'll be married and happy before you know it."

"How is he?" She asked as she pulled away and he considered lying.

"Not great, love. He's spiralling. But that's alright, we'll get him on the mend, we just have to tell him-"

"No!" She cried out, "we can't, he said if I tell him or try to contact him that he'll kill him, and then he'll kill me."

"I know, but we cannot let him dictate how you live the rest of your life. What's the plan then? Move back to London with your family and be miserable without John for the rest of your life?"

"That has to be miles better than being the reason he's dead." She snapped back and he sighed when he saw the cold fire behind her eyes. He wouldn't change her opinion that evening.

"Alright. You can stay here for now, but only on the solemn promise that you do not move back to London before we've at least tried to remedy the situation."

"As long as you swear to me that you will not tell John about what happened, or that I am still here."

"I swear. But what are you to do after this evening? My house, unfortunately, cannot manage your company for too long, small as it is."

"I will find somewhere to stay." She responded quietly.

"Alright. Off to bed with you then." Higgins said gruffly and she shuffled down the hall to Bessy's old room where Mary and the girls were already fast asleep. He sighed angrily and stomped to his own bed, wondering how on earth he was going to get them out of this mess, and how he could possibly communicate to John that everything was fine, after having sworn to say nothing.

* * *

John Thornton did not go home that evening. He was so used to finding her asleep or discovering a handwritten note that he couldn't bear the thought of returning home without seeing Margaret's face. When he arrived home he knew he wouldn't find his fiancé waiting bleary-eyed by the fire. Instead, his mother would be hovering in the hall, sternly waiting to ask about both of their whereabouts over the past two days. Or perhaps she had already spoken to Margaret - maybe she had even encouraged her to go. So he resolved for the second night in a row to stay in his office for the duration of the evening and manage his finances as a way of avoiding his heartbreak, as he had done the first time. This particular rejection, however, was must worse than the first, and his mind would not let it rest no matter how many business correspondences he wrote or inventories he took.

Early into the morning however, there came a tap at his door and he cautiously invited the presence hovering in the shadows of the archway into his office. As it turned out, it was not one person, but two.

His mother with Dixon, Margaret's ladies maid who must have only recently arrived, thundered into the room. Both of them were sporting concerned looks and each was holding a different piece of paper expectantly.

"What do you want, Mother?" He said, sitting back down and trying to ignore the tiny bit of hope that had been irrationally fluttering at his side anticipating Margaret to be the person behind the doorway.

"Son… Margaret has gone missing." Hannah said, trying to be as consoling as she could even while breaking the news.

"No she hasn't Mother."

"Yes, she –"

"She has broken off the engagement. She'll not have me." There was a lump in his throat and his face was hot.

"John," his mother said sternly. In response he thrust the letter at her. She took it graciously and after one perusal she scoffed and handed it to Dixon.

"So this is why you have not been home for two days? Moping over Miss Hale?"

"I expect she has been by to pick up her things and then disappeared without another word and that is why you are so concerned?"

"Son-"

"What am I supposed to do?" His face crumpled and he threw his hands in the air as if searching the universe for an answer.

"John Thornton you listen to me now," his mother reprimanded, "Margaret Hale is missing and if you love her at all you will stop moping about – you will pull yourself together and find her. She hasn't left you, you fool, that girl adores you, loathe as I am to admit it." She was angry now, angry that her son had given up so easily, angry that something might have happened when Margaret was under her care, angry that she had to admit how much she actually did enjoy the company of Miss Hale once she had moved in. John lifted his head slightly and wrung his hands to show he was listening and she pressed on, "The morning before yesterday she left around 11:30 for the Higgins. She walked down the usual way and I assumed she got to the Higgins just fine, but then she didn't return in the evening. Now I would have assumed the worst, but there have been a few times she has returned later than you would prefer, as the children are ill or Mary is too tired to put all of them to bed, so I stayed up late for her return. When she didn't I assumed she was staying the night there but I slept in the chair by the fire in case she came home in the early hours of the morning. Yet she didn't come back at all, which you'd know if you'd come home. Then in the late hours of yesterday Ms Dixon arrived with three huge suitcases of Miss Hale's belongings as well as her own. What kind of girl summons her maid with all of her belongings from the place she left if she is just planning to return?"

John looked to Dixon who was shaking her head with a grave expression on her face.

"Of course, when Ms Dixon arrived, she became worried immediately that Miss Hale had not at least sent word of her overnight stay, and we both wondered that she had not returned by mid-morning, now that it was already nearly evening. So we took the carriage down to the Higgins' residence but Mary said Miss Hale had never arrived for lunch the day before, and that she had wondered if she had fallen suddenly ill and been unable to attend. Obviously my first thought was that she'd taken a fall and so Dixon and I set off around the path but she could not be found. Then we knocked on people's doors in case they had taken her in, and after coming up empty, visited nearby doctors surgeries, and even went home to see if she had returned while we were out looking, but she was not there. We have been looking all night, and have not found her. She is missing."

"The letter, it is definitely by her hand. How do you know it isn't-"

"No, sir!" Dixon said vehemently, "she would never do anything to hurt you, never, she loves you!"

"She lied."

"No, she didn't!" Dixon grumbled and thrust the tattered letter in her hand into his face, "Here. You see?"

John took it from her uncertainly and unfolded it. The unmistakeable whirl of Miss Hale's handwriting graced the first line.

 _Dearest Dixon,_

 _Oh the things I must tell you! For so long I have felt I would never feel joy again, and you heard me say so more than once during my stay in London. But Dixon I was wrong; I am so happy as I am to be married in barely more than two months!_

 _Do I surprise you? After I told you so often, and with such conviction, that I would probably end up a spinster because no man seemed the right choice for my circumstance? I do hope so, I do not like to be_ too _predictable. What you may not find so surprising however, is the man I will marry – you already know how much I cared for him, and I thank you for keeping that secret from Edith and Henry, as I never believed anything would come of it. I was wrong – twice I have been wrong and yet I find I am not sore about it at all – I am too in love to feel embarrassed. In fact I am so in love with Mr Thornton as to render me completely senseless; I have moved to Milton on a whim and have left all of my belongings behind. I'm sure it must have been a shock when Henry returned empty handed and without my company and I will tell you the whole tale if you wish, but I do have a request._

 _I was wondering if it would please you to return to service? I know Aunt only treats you like a servant and I do enjoy your company. I also know that you do not like Milton, so this is only a request, but I would so love to for you and I to be as close as you and Mother once were. If you are willing, I thought perhaps you could live with us here, as I fear John's mother and sister still do not accept my presence here and I would love an old friend to feel at ease. I hope to hear from you soon, Dixon, as I do miss you, and I hope my Aunt has been treating you well in my absence._

 _Margaret_

John finished the letter and dropped it on the desk, scrutinising it carefully even as Hannah snatched it up to read. She had managed to say the words to her lady's maid but had never said them to him; why?

"What is this about keeping her secret?" Hannah asked, suspicion in her eyes as she glared over the page at the ladies maid.

Dixon sighed, "Miss Margaret has had a rough go of it this past year. Her only friend in Milton died, and then her mother, and her brother was nearly spotted and captured, and then of course that man turned up dead, and then her father died, and then Mr Bell. She has been miserable for a long time, but when we moved to London after her father died, that really broke her. She never cried – I never saw it, anyway – but something had snapped inside. Mr Bell took her to Helstone for a weekend and he gave everything to her when he left, but it was the straw that broke the camel's back, I believe. She seemed brighter when she returned from the trip, but in private… She didn't sleep; she spent many nights just sitting at the window staring into the distance… after a while I sat with her and suddenly she started talking. She told me all about how lonely she had been, and how the one man who she had grown to love now hated her and what had happened to Mr Bell. She told me all about that conversation you took it upon yourself to have with her, Ms Thornton, and about Mr Thornton here's first proposal, and about the blow she took to the head at the strike riot. There has been so much that she has told no-one for so long, and I think it had been driving her mad. She just doesn't like to worry anyone. But when she talked about you, sir, she just… relaxed a little more… she seemed more at ease. You should have seen her when Edith and Henry discussed their supposed inevitable engagement; I think they thought they were being secretive, but she could almost always hear them and it frightened her, I think. She didn't like having her future planned without her say, so when she heard about the Mills she packed her bags immediately to find you and help. Of course, she felt she had to bring Henry, as he was helping her try and get Frederick back in the country and she needed someone to help explain her business proposal. But then when Henry came back without her, I knew she had decided to make her own future. Then I got her letter."

John felt pained hearing about how cheerless his fiancé had been, but his own spirits were lifted slightly at the thought that she had been in love with him for long enough she'd admitted it to others.

"She loves you, sir, and it's not right, this other letter is all wrong. She hated London and she… any advance you might have made at the train station did not offend her. If she truly found it abhorrent, she would have stopped you there and then, you _must_ know that!" Dixon announced, and John found himself inclined to agree; Margaret had never exactly been one to hide her feelings or hold her tongue in any situation, especially with regards to himself.

"That's not all. When we couldn't find her this past evening we searched her room, and found this." Hannah held out the paper she'd been holding. On one side was a jumble of signatures in various styles and a few repeated efforts, all of them the same name: _Margaret Thornton._ On the other was a list of those people she wished to attend the wedding, and he became more and more saddened as his eyes reached the bottom of the right column. "We found it under the pillow in her bed. That girl is in love with you. She would not abandon you without good reason, it just doesn't make any sense."

John looked at his mother and nodded, the horrible realisation the two women had already come to now creeping up his spine, "So why would she write those things? Where is she?" There was panic in his voice now, "Why would she do that? What if-"

"I think we need to send out a search party." Hannah said staunchly but John didn't hear her. Something was prickling at the back of his mind, something someone else had said… what was it?

" _You're no use to anyone in this state…"_ He mumbled, comprehension dawning.

"What?" Hannah and Dixon looked bewildered.

"Higgins. He didn't believe it either. He told me to pull myself together. He knows – or he at least has an idea why she did what she did. I need to speak to Higgins." He realised quickly that time was of the essence and so launched to his feet, grabbed his jacket and was out the door in a flash with the two women on his heels.

* * *

When a knock came at Nicholas Higgins' door so early on a Saturday morning he had an immediate inking of who it would be, and he cursed that Margaret had already had the presence of mind to get up before him and leave. He wished she had been a heavier sleeper, but was already gone when he awoke. He unlocked the latch and even before the door swung open, John was half inside.

"Where is she?" There was tired frustration in his voice.

"I don't know, Thornton." Higgins said, and it was at least partly true – he didn't know where Margaret was, he only knew where she had been.

"Nicholas, please. She had to come to you, she's got no-one else. If you haven't at least seen her then I don't know what I'll do, because she could be… she could be dying out there!"

"Look, all I can say is that she is not dying, but I don't know where she is-"

"How can you know _how_ she is, but not _where_ she is?" Dixon protested and he sighed and rubbed his neck awkwardly.

"I can't say."

"What do you mean, you can't say?" Hannah said threateningly and he ignored her and looked to John.

"Listen, she's alright, she's safe, but she made me swear not to tell you where she is or why she did what she did. I found her on my doorstep last night, and she was gone before I got up this morning; she just needed somewhere to stay the night before she left. I did make her swear not to leave for London."

"But-"

"Look, Thornton, I just don't know what to tell you – I don't know where she is. But don't be sending out search parties, because she don't want them. She's not dying and she's still in Milton."

"Nicholas…" All the fight seemed to leave John and he leant against the window-frame for support, "Please… what's going on?"

"I'm not sure I'm the right person to tell you, as I don't know as much as I say I'd like to."

Thornton nodded even while his mind raced and Higgins clapped him on the shoulder, apologising profusely to ears that couldn't hear. It wasn't long before Hannah became impatient and the party left in boiling silence.

* * *

When they arrived back at the Mills, John was exhausted – he hadn't slept for two nights and it was looking like a long day was ahead of him. It was the first Saturday he hadn't worked since they'd been back, and if she'd been home it might have been the first day they'd spent together alone.

He sat down beside the fire and poured himself a stiff drink, staring into the glass and watching the reflections of the fire, searching for answers in the twisting crystal flames. Hannah and Dixon were attempting to ascertain Margaret's whereabouts from the letter to John, and were brandishing it about angrily. John couldn't think, and as Fanny swanned in the door as she usually did on a Saturday morning, he couldn't take it anymore. He threw his glass across the room and it hit the wall and shattered, spraying alcohol across the room and scattering shards into the carpet.

"John!?" Hannah attempted, but he was already storming out the door. As it swung loudly shut behind him, the whole house was in dead silence, until Fanny raised a judging eyebrow.

"Always in one of his moods! Honestly, that Miss Hale is meant for him – they can be all miserable together."


	5. Scarce Awake

_But list, O list,- so soft and low_  
 _Thy lover's voice tonight shall flow,_  
 _That, scarce awake, thy soul shall deem_  
 _My words the music of a dream._  
 _Thus, while no single sound too rude_  
 _Upon thy slumber shall intrude,_  
 _Our thoughts, our souls- O God above!_  
 _In every deed shall mingle, love._

 ** _Edgar Allen Poe, Serenade_**

* * *

Margaret pulled the chain off her neck and held it tightly in her hand. She looked down at the key, nestled tightly between an old cross her father had given her and a locket of mourning with the names of her parents on either side. The only place left in Milton that was hers, and hers alone. She unlocked the door and stepped into the hall, breathing in her old home. It still smelled like old books and her father's musty unworn jackets, and her mother's favourite perfume, and for a moment, she was back there. Back when she was the closest to happiness, when everything was fine, and the only dark spot on her life was a brooding man whom she claimed to hate, but who for some reason she could never shake from her mind. She drifted back to the present as she realised how stale those once fresh scents had become and how happy she'd been in the past few weeks.

"Of course." She breathed, "It had to be something."

She set about moving some of the furniture sitting idle in the kitchen so she could make herself some tea, but soon forgot the task and simply slumped at the table instead. She could almost imagine what her father would say if she asked him what to do. He'd make her a cup of tea and they would talk quietly so as not to disturb her mother as he discussed the moral conundrum and the personal impact of any action taken.

" _Well Margaret, what do you think is the most honourable thing to do? Mr Thornton is a clever man, I'm sure if you spoke to him and explained the situation, he would understand."_

" _But how would I speak to him father? Stephens said…"_

" _That is something you'll have to work out for yourself my dear, but if I was still alive, you know I would never allow you to do this – it is far too dangerous to try and "go it alone" so to speak, and you need someone in your corner my dear."_

" _But you're not… you're not here anymore, and I can't come to you for help."_

" _Oh Margaret, just because I'm not there doesn't mean I cannot be of help. You knew me well – you know what I would do."_

" _No I don't! I'm all alone and the one person I need most is the person I have let down in order to protect!"_

 _Her mother would have heard the outburst and come wafting down the stairs, light as a feather._

" _Margaret? What is all this noise?"_

" _Mother, I do not know what to do."_

" _Sweetheart, if that man loves you he will find a way to you no matter how far you run or how well you hide. And if you love him, you won't be able to stay away for long – you can't bear hurting him, can you?"_

" _No. It hurts, Mother. I cannot bear to think of him so pained."_

" _Of course not dear, that is why I followed your father here, believing it the right decision. I could not bear to see him so unhappy in Helstone. And he could not bear my death. He was more at peace when he died than when we left for Milton – because he knew he was coming home to a loving wife who'd missed him all that time. We both of us understand how difficult either side of this conundrum is, but it is you who must navigate your own path."_

" _Mother, I cannot do this by myself any longer! I am so alone…"_

" _I'm sorry. That is my fault." Frederick's voice pierced the aching silence and she flinched when she saw him in the doorway._

" _No, Frederick, it is not any fault of yours, you did the right thing-"_

" _But if I had not, perhaps I would still be in England with you, then you would not have to battle this alone."_

" _You had your own battles to fight." Margaret said with conviction and then her eyes fell upon someone leaning in the doorway, coughing. "Bessy?"_

" _I knew you and Thornton would get together." The wry tone was unmistakeable._

" _Bessy." Tears clung to Margaret's lashes but they did not fall, "Bessy I miss you so much. You were my only friend in Milton."_

" _No longer though, I see. You found good company with my father, and Mary. Thornton treats you well, as he should, and even Old Battle-axe Thornton seems to have warmed to you a little. I suppose you'll not have conversation quite so intellectual as we used to share," she joked, "but you'll manage without me, as you have been."_

" _I could use some of our intellectual conversation about now." Margaret noted and Bessy chuckled._

" _You know exactly what I'd say." She said pointedly._

" _Yes, I suppose I do."_

" _Well get to it then, I don't have all day." Bessy beamed._

 _Margaret nodded and turned away from her family, but she paused at the edge of the stairs for one last glance back at them. Bessy was grinning from ear to ear, and her father had his arm around her mother's shoulders. Frederick was sitting up straight, looking proudly at her, but she could still see the guilt around his eyes. With a jolt, she realised that someone had been hovering behind her the entire time. Mr Bell was laughing merrily in the seat she'd just vacated, eyes twinkling as they usually did, like he had a secret only the two of them could share._

Margaret woke with a jolt. She'd fallen asleep in her chair with her head resting on the kitchen table, and she stood carefully to avoid feeling dizzy. The dream had been so vivid, so real, that she wondered she had not had an out-of-body experience. She was struck again with the loss of so many people she loved, but as usual she bore it with barely an outward expression of grief. She'd worn black as was the custom, and she had the funerary locket for her parents, but she always appeared composed. She had barely cried at any of their deaths, and it began to feel like her eyelids were no longer holding back droplets, but floods. She could not falter, for if she did, she might never get up.

She trudged upstairs and sat in the study, surveying her father's books and wondering how on earth she was going to get herself out of this particular situation. She tried to push the vision of John, inconsolable and enraged, out of her mind, but it hovered over her like a vengeful spirit. 

* * *

John was striding through the streets, wracking his brains for any hint of where his fiancé could be: anywhere that she might go, other than the Higgins'. He was wandering aimlessly, head down and barely glancing up at his surroundings, so deep was he in thought.

He could almost hear his father, _"Son, come on, you should know this! You claim to love this woman, surely you know where she would go? Where she feels the safest?"_

He rolled his eyes and tried to shake the memory away, but he found his father's voice was always the one in the back of his head whenever he needed it.

" _Where would you go, if you were running away?"_

"Margaret. I'd go to Margaret."

" _And where would you go together?"_

"Anywhere she wanted. Somewhere quiet, with no-one we know anywhere in sight and no chance of disturbance, somewhere like…" He trailed off as he realised where he was standing, "Home."

He saw no sign that anyone had been in the house since Mr Hale had died, but then he hadn't ever expected to. All the curtains were drawn and the front door was locked, but he had a feeling deep in his gut that Margaret was here. He knew that if she heard him knocking or breaking a window that she might run away, so he had to think carefully. He tried the window to the lower sitting room but it was locked and he knew he couldn't pick it. An idea struck him and he walked down the street and around the side, to the servants' quarters. He sent up a silent prayer as he tried the handle, and miraculously, it twisted silently and swung open.

Thornton crept quietly through the room to the door to the kitchen, which had only a bolt with no lock attached. He noticed the slight warmth of the kettle and hoped that it was not simply homeless squatters or his own helpless imagination. 

* * *

Margaret had begun one of her father's volumes of Aristotle, and was thoroughly engrossed in it when two black boots appeared in her peripheral. Her eyes rose up to find John Thornton occupying the doorway, a look of pain and anger on his face. Her heart simultaneously lifted at his presence and dropped at how hurt he appeared, and it ended up residing somewhere in her throat, restricting her breathing. The book clattered unceremoniously to the floor as she stood as though to run, though she couldn't have said whether it would be into his arms or as far away as possible.

"John?" Was the only word she could manage, and it sounded tiny in the huge chasm of space between them.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" He started, rage building even as he tried to quieten it. "What on earth is going on!? Why would you do this?" There was a desperate edge in his tone that she couldn't have ignored if she tried.

"I'm sorry, I just…" She had to protect him, "I couldn't do it, I cannot marry you." Her voice wavered and she prayed that he didn't notice.

"Margaret, what is really going on here?"

"I told you I – I – I do not love you, and I have never felt that way." The words tasted so bitter in her mouth that she almost choked on them and she felt her face grow hot. She would not cry.

"Margaret, please!" It wasn't a question, "What have I done? What could possibly be so bad that you would disappear from everyone's sight for three days, and only tell Nicholas Higgins why?"

"Nicholas told you?" Margaret's hands clenched into fists to stop the tears.

"No. He told me you were safe and that I should stop looking for you, because you didn't want to be found. Why? Why don't you want to even _see_ me? You can't break our engagement off in person? What is going on?"

"I can't…" She whispered.

"You can't what?" The anger was dark in his eyes and she found herself flashing back to their first meeting. Unlike then however, now she knew him too well, and she could see the grief and fear and pain that fuelled the fury, "You owe me! You owe me at the very least an explanation, Margaret."

"I owe you nothing." She hissed, trying to fall back on the haughtiness he had once believed she possessed.

"For goodness sake Margaret, tell me what is going on!" His face was stone and the iciness in his tone made the temperature of the whole room drop.

"Step away from the door and let me pass, I do not have to remain here with you, and I do not wish to." She said sharply.

"No." He crossed his arms and didn't budge, "Do you love me or not?"

"If I say what you want to hear will you allow me to leave?"

"No." He said steadfastly but doubt crossed his face and it cut through her like a dagger.

"You cannot keep me here!" She snapped and crossed her own arms in defiance.

"So start explaining." He muttered. She maintained eye contact, refusing to blink in the face of her fiancé's stubbornness.

"It hurts…" She whispered. She wouldn't cry; she could stand tall against the throbbing ache of seeing him, of knowing how much she'd hurt him.

"What hurts? Being engaged to me? Living in a house with my mother? What is it? WHAT CAN I DO?" He shouted and she flinched, "What could possibly hurt as much as having our engagement broken via a LETTER? And then realising that everyone else must know you better than me, because none of them believed it, but I did. I believed everything you said in that letter and it tore me apart! What could _possibly_ hurt as much?"

"Hurting you that much!" She snapped back just as loud and caught the shock as it glanced across his face. "It hurts! It's agony to see you so pained and angry and to know that it was my doing… That is what hurts! It's killing me!" The weight of everything collapsed down hard onto her and she felt her knees shake with the burden of it, but she was determined to hold her ground. Until she couldn't anymore.

"Then why would you do it? Why would you say those things?" John's anger lessened and she could see the fear in his eyes and it broke her.

"Because they're true." She tried, but she knew it wasn't working anymore.

"Are they?"

There was a long, terrible pause.

"Bastard." She whispered, a tear teetering on her lashes.

"Is that why you left me?"

"No!"

"Do you expect me to just walk out of here without explanation?"

"No!"

"Do you love me?!"

"YES!" She bellowed, "Of course I love you! I wouldn't be doing any of this if I didn't lo-" and finally, _finally_ , Margaret Hale broke down. "Please John, please just let me leave. Just go away, please! He'll hurt you, please just forget me, please John! Just let me go."

"No! Don't you understand, I can't do that?!" John yelled and she sobbed, clutching at her dress.

"You don't understand–"

"No, I don't! I don't understand anything that's been going on, because you HAVEN'T TOLD ME!" He roared and Margaret's resolve collapsed.

Everything she had been holding in, since Bessy, since her mother, her father, all of it – it all came crashing into her and she just couldn't stay upright against the onslaught anymore. Her legs buckled and she leant heavily on the wall for support, wrapping her arms around herself. All the anguish of not being able to touch him, all the stress of the past two days, everything that had transpired between them, it was surrounding her, enveloping her, suffocating her. It was all too much. She loved him too much. She missed him too much. The floodgates burst and tears began cascading down her face, "I can't do this anymore! I tried…" She cried out and John took a hesitant step forward.

"Then don't. You don't have to. We can work this out, we can do this together." His gaze had gone from furious to anxious and she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye.

"I can't, I can't let you, I can't," She was on the verge of hysterics and John's heart was breaking all over again.

"Tell me!" He implored.

"He's deranged!" It burst from her mouth before she could stop it and then she found herself ignoring reason, "He'll kill you! He kidnapped me, he forced me to write that letter, he wanted to punish you and I helped!"

"Who?" He asked calmly.

"I never wanted to hurt you, but he said… he said… and I just didn't think, I was so afraid, I couldn't bear the thought-"

"I can take care of myself Miss Hale. If you can't trust me to protect myself, how can you trust me to be a suitable husband?" She could hear that hurt tone again and she wrung her hands.

"That is not the issue-"

"Then explain it to me!?" He thundered.

"I would do anything to avoid hurting you-" She started.

"What, and saying you never loved me doesn't HURT?" His rage had returned and was building again. "I'd rather have DIED than had you say those words to me!"

"And I'd rather have died than said them! I offered. I begged him to kill me but he refused! He just kept saying that if I didn't break it off you would die and I couldn't do that to you. I can't be the reason you're dead, I can't. You're all I've got left!" Margaret screamed, and the volume of her cries was so unexpected that he almost winced, "Everyone important in my life, everyone I've ever loved and held above others is gone and when the Mill failed and I saw your mother and I saw how frightened she was, I was so scared. I was so terrified that I was too late and I would never get to tell you how I felt, and then, of course, I never said it anyway. I just… I thought that I was cursed, foolish as it is; I believed somehow that if I said the words then it would all disappear like some horrible nightmare and I couldn't take that! But of course, the words didn't matter; I didn't need to say them, I just needed to be in love with you for the universe to conspire to take you away. He was going to take you away from me – he was going to take you away and make me WATCH!" the hysterics were in full swing now and she slid down the wall slightly, sobs wracking her body.

John's stomach churned unpleasantly: he'd never seen her like this. In fact, he could have put money on the idea that no-one had ever seen Margaret Hale this way, so unhinged and afraid. He knew the strength she prided herself on, and the inability to express her feelings that could rival even his own repression.

"Margaret," he said softly, all anger forgotten, and she covered her face with her hands.

"Don't! Don't say my name like that, please."

"Like what?"

"Like you forgive me."

"Margaret." He tried again.

"No, stop! I don't deserve it."

"Margaret."

"Don't!" She cried out, and threw her hands down as though to run out of the room, but he was directly in front of her now and he grabbed her wrists as she moved, holding her still.

"Margaret." He murmured and she gasped at his contact and his closeness and the use of her name and he let go and stepped back, thinking he'd hurt her. She was reacting instinctively though, when she grabbed his shirt and yanked him back. His forearms hit the wall either side of her head and for a moment he stiffened, shock preventing him from registering the action, but once the moment passed he realised he was inches away from her face. He was leaning on her heavily, holding her against the wall, and as he shifted his weight she wrenched him back, her hands stretching under his arms and around his shoulders, grasping him tightly. He could feel her shaking and her eyes were scrunched closed. She tucked her head into his neck and he kissed her hair, all arguments entirely forgotten.

Nearly every inch of their bodies were touching, but the layers between them felt too much and as he reached his hand across to touch her cheek she held her breath. When their skin touched it rippled ice cold agony and white hot fire until her pulse was carrying it everywhere and when she sucked air into her lungs it felt like the first time she'd ever taken a breath. He pressed his forehead to hers and she made a tiny sound of affirmation, one that deeply embarrassed her but one that John found intoxicating. He kissed her down her cheek to the soft skin of her neck and she forgot why she'd written the letter in the first place, she forgot where she was; she forgot her own name.

This was what had been causing them both so much agony for so many weeks – all of the thinking and hoping and reminiscing – it had been driving them wild. As Margaret drew in a ragged breath she became hyper aware of his hands gripping her waist and her neck as though he was never going to let go. She could feel the strength of his restraint in those painfully still hands. John's lips ignited a blaze where they roamed and he could feel her pulse through her throat, hammering erratically through the woman he loved. As he moved further up towards her lips he could feel it hastening, almost begging him to close the gap, pleading with him to make everything safe and secure again. He tilted slightly to see her, but she averted her eyes, as she always did when she was ashamed and angry and overcome with emotion. She knew how much he could read in her eyes and she hid them from him. But he wouldn't let her withhold any more secrets and he froze, lips hovering so close to her lips as to incite longing, and he waited for her to look at him. When she did, he was not disappointed.

Her eyes were wide and filled with tears and he knew immediately that she loved him, for it was etched in her gaze and he knew that she had been in as much pain as he had been the past month because he felt her heart skip a beat through his fingertips.

Her fingers raked desperately down his shoulder-blades and he made a noise deep in his chest, leaning on her more heavily even as his brain registered the unacceptable nature of their current position. _Society has no bearing on this matter,_ he thought.

With that thought spinning through his head, he pressed his lips to hers. She had his shirt in handfuls even as she brushed his shoulders once more, pulling his shirt tighter in an effort to bring him as close as was humanly possible. Margaret wanted their hearts to touch, so that hers could communicate wordlessly what she could not say. She was so afraid of losing him, and she focussed on where his fingers brushed her hair and his thumb stroked her cheek. She committed to memory the feeling of his lips so insistently kissing hers and his arm around her waist even as it dipped dangerously low. She was sure she had ripped his shirt but at that moment she couldn't have cared less if eternal damnation began raining from the sky – she just wanted embrace the man she loved and never let go.

When he finally tore himself away and pressed his forehead to hers she had to catch her breath and she could feel him struggling to reign in his own. She tried to slide to the ground, her legs no longer willing to take any of her weight, but he sat down against the wall and pulled her into his lap. She flashed back to the first morning she had taken breakfast with him as an engaged couple and longed for a day when life was so simple. She slumped.

"I'm right here Margaret, I'm not going anywhere. Everything is going to be okay." He pulled her tighter to his chest and she sobbed into his shoulder, "It's alright, I'm right here. I'm here."

"I just can't lose you." Her voice was muffled but he could feel the loss emanating through her and he imagined that she had not let herself fully experience such strong emotion for a long time. She pushed it down and tried to get on with her life, but the thought of him dying had just been too much. He couldn't even remember what it felt like to be angry at Miss Hale, he was so struck by her emotional vulnerability in his presence, and her tears, and his own desire to wrap her up and make everything better, for the rest of their lives. He wouldn't be able to achieve that, however, until she informed him on the whole sordid tale.

"What are we going to do?" Margaret's eyes, tired and bloodshot, sought his.

"Well I only know that we shouldn't stay apart any longer. It is taking us both to the edge of derangement, and I have to know that you are safe. I propose you stay here for now and I will visit in the afternoons. I will send Dixon to keep an eye during the day and will call a few friends from the Police Force – good men who may keep an investigation while we act as we have the past three days so that this man does not become suspicious. You need to tell me everything that has transpired. I'm not letting you move until I am convinced that every stone has been overturned." His voice took on a joking tone and she couldn't help but feel slightly uplifted even while anxiety surrounded her in every lingering shadow.


End file.
